


Laura

by PastaBucket



Category: Logan (2017) - Fandom, X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Angst, Assassination, Blood and Gore, F/M, Femdom, Feral Behavior, Light Smut, Purple Prose, Snuff, Underage Rape/Non-con, doodling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-06-16 11:15:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 23
Words: 8,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15435864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastaBucket/pseuds/PastaBucket
Summary: I'm just doodling a bit, about my favourite feral kid.There's all kinds of weird stand-alone scenes here:If you want to watch 11 year old Laura work out in the gym, and posing nude, then read chapter 1.If you want darker stuff, then read other chapters.I try to keep things a bit lighthearted, but all my stories descend into gloomy shit eventually.





	1. Gym

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dan Kim](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Dan+Kim).



> Will this be a canon portrayal of Laura Kinney's actual life?  
> No, and I'll tell you why: It's not that I won't be able to tell you what catatonic disassociative shock feels like when you've just killed your own mother from trigger scent, because I can technically cite that from memory.
> 
> It's that there comes a point where a story gets so black, that it just gets silly. Wolverine's (Logan's) story was fucked up, but it was a personal struggle that people could understand and wanted to read. ...but do you really want to read about child snuff stuff? They wanted to one-up Wolverine's story with the Kinney's stories, thinking it would draw sympathy, but it just became "break the cutie" torture porn - a story so angsty that it was just bizarre, and that nobody could relate to. ...and even for somebody who can relate to more parts of it than most can, it's something I'd rather forget. It's just not funny. It's not entertaining to read.
> 
> ...so that's why I'm not doing canon, even for the movie that was rather mild. The child is mute from trauma. Once you go mute, then you're not really home in your own body. Fuck that shit. Apart from chapter two, I'm gonna write happy Kinney stories instead. She deserves that.

The two soft mounds bulged from under the wet grey sports bra, each one crested by a nipple so stiff that it looked like it would break through the fabric. On either side wet of them a myriad of droplets adorned arms whose muscles were pushed onto a conquest to dominate. ...but all too soon they came to a halt, just freezing up in mid-air, refusing to obey her anymore no matter how much she continued to push. Her arms shook as she growled out her frustrated fury through grit teeth, refusing to admit defeat until her options were between either lowering them, or facing joint dislocation. She left the bench more pissed than when she sat down.

She left a small pool around her bench. The gym was uncomfortably hot in the summer. Her first solution had been to simply liberate herself from her clothes that they made her wear, but that got them all upset, and so her second solution was to shower, and let the water soak into her clothes and hair. The effect was more freezing than cooling, but it solved the heat problem, although people still stared, at her nipples and her crotch, with a shy but restrained interest. Most of the time, though, the entire gym was her personal space, since few people ever came here. ...but it wasn't always just water in that pool. It was her bench, and she wanted it for herself, and she knew how to make others stay away from it if she had to.

She stood there for a bit, shifting her muscles around, hunting for "bubbles". Sometimes, like when she dislocated her shoulders, there were large bubbles, that cracked like bones breaking when she shoved an arm back into its socket, but most of the time the muscles simply crackled with strain underneath the skin as she stretched them out. At times the muscles themselves could be more restrictive than the clothes.

She dragged the bench over to the bar and climbed it to reach high enough. She hung from it for a bit, her small hands gripping the thick circumference as best they could, before she started raising herself up by mostly her fingers. She wasn't very methodical about it, finishing the set by just jumping and jerking as best she could, her muscles shaking and her eyes seeing purple shapes when she clenched them. Again she left it feeling dissatisfied with herself, her breath heavy. She attacked it again and again with the same result, her left arm now aching from the violent abuse.

With both hands and feet, she then pushed the bench over to the dumbbell rack for the tricep extensions. These hurt a bit more, but pain still wasn't the issue as her muscles seized up once more, making her just freeze in a half finished, shivering posture, hoping for some kind of miracle that would never come. Outside, a heavy summer rain had started to wash against the windows to the wall facing the inner courtyard, hammering the window sills. The thunder wasn't far behind.

\---

Laura entered the empty dorm, her body hot and covered in a layer of what was by now mostly sweat. She'd been told to shower after her sessions, but nobody was around to scold her now. She quickly tore off her gym clothes, and when she lied down on the bed, the gravity just sucked her down into dry mattress. Now it was definitely too late to get up. Eager to dry her armpits and her groin, she turned on her back, sprawling out into a nude starfish with her arms and legs, before resting her wet head on her hands, smiling happily. In order to help her groin along further, she pushed her bare soles together, pouting with her little bare venus mound while playfully jiggling her buttcheeks, making her pussy wiggle from side to side in a silly suggestive manner that dared any imaginary man to take her up on her free offer.  
  
Still smiling, she traced the ridge of her young abdominal muscles all the way down over the small bump of her uterus, before playfully resting it on the hood over her little button. They all wanted this part the most of all. She stretched out her back with a smug sensation of feeling beautiful and attractive.

 


	2. Therapy

"I am a monster."  
"...and what makes you think that?"  
As a reply, Laura just very slowly let the tips pierce the valleys between her knuckles. The tearing of the skin stung, but she pushed down the fury it triggered.  
"Don't do that, Laura. You know what they'll do to you." There was still fear in his voice, that he perhaps wouldn't live to tell anyone. She'd made her point.  
"It's what I am." She looked up at the shrink while retracting. "...isn't it?"  
The shrink had nothing to say to that.  
"Did you read what happened when I was five?"  
"That was an accident.", he reminded her. "It says you deeply regretted it. You even called for help."  
"'Accident'." What an amusing interpretation. "When the other kids punch, even other kids get back up again. When I punch, they stay gone forever. ...and ever. ...and you have to tell their families, don't you? What do you tell them? That a monster got them?"  
The shrink kept quiet, letting her talk.  
"...and have you ever seen your best friend standing in front of the bathroom mirror, thinking he's going to actually die, because the blood just won't stop gushing, while an orderly does the best she can to press the cuts shut with a towel? ...and he gives you this look, like he doesn't know who, or what you are, anymore." She held back tears now.  
"You're a responsible girl now, Laura.", he said. "You've come a long way since you were seven."  
"Yes.", she said, blinking her eyes dry again. "I have."  
"That doesn't mean that it's always wrong, though." He'd gotten her point, and just as she'd predicted, he tried to sidestep it.  
She looked at him. "What if it was you who ended up in one of those photographs?", she asked. "Would you still think that I'm a responsible girl?"  
"Only very bad men end up in those photographs.", he assured her.  
"'Bad men' who 'do bad things'. 'Politics'. 'Targets'.". She mocked the recited phrases. They meant nothing to her. All she saw was people with different faces. "What about monsters? Do they end up in those photographs?"  
"You're too young to understand these things.", he told her.  
"Have you ever killed anyone?", she asked.  
"No, I haven't."  
"Then I don't think you'll understand either." She held up a fist and watched the claws extend again. "It's easy.", she described while inspecting their ridges. "It's fun. It feels really natural for me."  
"The scars on your arm tell a different story.", he nervously pointed out. "Why do you cut yourself?"  
"Because I'm a responsible monster. 'High spatial awareness. Low social skills. Emotional instability.'", she cited from what she'd gleaned from her journal.

They were making no progress with her this session either.


	3. Icecream

As he casually picked his teeth whilst reading the paper, the orderly became aware of one of the kids mimicking him from across the kitchen table, out of the corner of his eye. Whatever she managed to dislodge from her teeth, it made an unnerving crunching sound.  
It took him a few minutes to put his finger on what was even more odd: He remember putting the toothpick holder back on the shelf, far beyond the reach of any kid.  
"Hey, where'd you get the toothpick from?" He looked up across the table.  
The child was picking her teeth with a spoon, meticulously scraping the metal against the enamel.  
"I'm not so sure that's good for your teeth, hun."  
The child just smiled back at him, chewing on whatever she'd scraped off.  
He just shook his head and continued reading, but quickly noticed that the scraping and crunching had stopped, and found that she was now just resting her chin on her hands on the table, observing him.  
"I'll tell you what: I'll give you an icecream if you get out of my sight - how does that sound?"  
She just shook her head, still smiling mischeviously. She knew she could get more out of the deal.  
"Okay, two icecreams, if you eat them out in the yard."  
She nodded eagerly.

The rain had left little puddles behind everywhere. She kept the second icecream in her pocket while she ate the first one, and then quickly moved on to the second one, pulling her panties out of her butt crack. She decided that she liked the first flavor better. Then she caught a moth that got too close to her. Up close they looked pretty ugly. She wiped it off on her pants.

As the sun got higher in the sky, the summer heat was becoming unbearable again. Other people seemed to not notice it as much as she did. Since she was alone in the yard, she finally decided that she'd had enough, and spent the rest of the time there walking laps in the nude until they let her in again.

 


	4. Flesh and blood

She stared at one of her forearms, wishing she could do anything to make it less stiff and rigid, so that she could continue doing pullups and chinups, but she knew there was no use. Even though she recovered fast, she had to wait again, or she suspected the muscle would tear.

They didn't see the world as she did. They didn't share her awareness of it, and so they didn't understand her "obsessions". They walked about doing most of their interactions socially, living inside their own sheltered heads and carefully choosing words for their language. She followed the little blue blood highways underneath her skin. Her arms and legs was in the end the only true way to communicate with the physical world, but she had to grow that voice in order to be heard.

She flexed her arm. At least the torn bicep had finally healed fully now. Her body was like her child, but though she loved it, she also hated it when it disobeyed and complained to her. Other people feared pain, but her, it just drove mad. It tried to tell her what to do - to hold back - like a bully.

 

She watched the light red water spiral down the shower drain, dragging little black clots of coagulation with it. Since she had a limited supply of DNA, she hated wasting blood, and so she would often eat the scabs as a way of recycling it back into her body. Getting it out of her hair wasn't that bad. It was getting it out from under her nails, and out of her ear canals, that could take days. The regeneration wouldn't help to push it out, so you'd end up with a stale clot pushing up against the eardrum, and blue-black areas under the nails.

Clipping her toe nails, and then using a nail pusher to dig the scab cakes out from underneath it, would help, but she'd rarely get all of it, and it left little cavities that would fill up with yellow pus instead, and so in the end she just didn't bother with it, since those ones didn't hurt as annoyingly as the "blood swimmers ear" ones. 24 hours later those were a bitch, and they made little noises too: "Woosh! Woosh! Woosh!", like some sort of distant washing machine that would wash faster whenever she did anything. ...but it was actually her own pulse pushing against the clot, that then pushed against the airdrum.

When she complained about the pain, the orderlies would hand her a little orange rubber thingie they called a "bulb syringe" and told her to go rinse her ear canal with warm water. It didn't work.


	5. Chapter 5

They should really train guard dogs to scan for mushrooms, 'cause she sure smelled like one. Prep weeks were the worst: No sleeping in, meals strictly on specific hours only, over a dozen meds and steroids to take around the clock, briefings to go over, and it all added up to just basically throwing her out there and watch her either sink or swim. The swimming contenders she were up against all looked so confused and unprepared, which was kind of the idea, but all the prep they had was basically some kind of firearm and some caffeine derivative at best, and so while killing them was pretty fun, she kind of envied them too. ...but at the end of it all, there would be icecream again, and being free to add additives to her food, which was great. Training had to wait for another week, though, until she was cleared by the phys checkups.


	6. Bullets

Lodged bullet fragments were annoying and dumb. You could pull out the surface ones, and some you could get with surgery, but then there were those stupid things that hid away in hard to reach areas like under her shoulder blades, that just "had to come out on their own", and those were really uncomfortable and prevented her from training for months. Every time she moved, she heard it tearing through her flesh, hopefully in the right direction, whilst tearing through sinew and muscle. Sometimes they got lodged into her bones too, which took extra time.  
It's not that she hated not going on missions. It's that she hated not being able to move freely. It was irritating.


	7. Remorse

Laura looked at the blade - a mere manmade imitation of her claws - and turned it over. On one side murder was something ghastly, that was something terribly wrong, and on the other side murder was something that had to be done. ...and she was okay with this paradox somehow. Killing felt right. She loved it without even a trace of remorse. It made her feel mature and responsible, as long as she killed "the right" kind of people. The appointed "bad" people. If she was insane, then insane was who she was. They wouldn't let her out anyway, but they did give her the breathing room - the playground - she needed to be happy.

Sometimes she set out looking for it: The wrong. She made sure to leave one alive, and went through the trouble of disabling him or even tying him up. ...but it was no use. If there was one thing that she'd never get out of them, it was pleads for mercy. At most she got bargains. Desperate, hollow deals. No appeals to "her better side", and that was kind of disappointing and unsatisfactory. She got little yelps out of them, but that was it. ...and so killing them - and she'd killed way too many to remember at this point - ultimately lacked emotional meaning to her, and so her conscience felt somehow still clean.  
Funny that.


	8. Chapter 8

So many people strewn about at the entrance to the building, and with so little training. Burrowing her claws deep into every one of their vital organs still pleased her, but it was exhausting work. Even now dark blood drops paved little streaks down her naked right backside and muscular butt cheek, and she couldn't even tell how it got there. Her front was obviously even more coated, her breasts almost coated up to her stiff nipples. It felt virtuous and dirty at the same time. She needed a shower. Wiping the blood off only still left a thin smear coat behind, probably filled with the stray strain of sepsis, Aids and who knows what they had in their systems.

There would of course be more, in time. Her job was never really finished. She was just allowed to take breaks in between. She heard the sound of a helicopter high above. Her main target was making his exit. She wouldn't be able to catch up with him, but she counted on him not being able to wipe his hastily abandoned lair entirely. He would leave a trail behind - one that she could follow.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "...and you push me up to this  
> state of emergency - how beautiful to me.  
> State of emergency, is where I long to be."  
> \- Joga, Björk (as covered by Kawehi)
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oCVeM5ArHAw

How many hours had gone by? According to the nearby clock, not even two. It felt like twice that. When the pulse goes into overdrive and time is no longer measured in seconds, but in a systematic flurry of positioning and lethal cuts, and the minutes are measured in strewn bodies, one loses track.

In the resulting dead silence, a hundred or so bodies later, the stalking bare feet of a little girl, advancing along the blood trail leading to the roof stairwell. She knew that he'd get away, but she'd made him bleed - a promising reward in itself.

She'd overheard some guesses and speculations over who sent her - organizations and names of rivals and people with grudges - but she was none of that. They never told her who ultimately owned her "program", and she wasn't meant to care. She represented something more primal: Death incarnate, without allegiance, sent to quiet the people who had foolishly claimed a piece of her domain as their own. They thought they could master violence with their weapons, and now they had found out that they were only second best, to be ultimately consumed by their own fates, one by one.

No matter what looks of deadly intent she turned into looks of terrified death, she was below guilt. It took somebody dirty, and sociopathic enough, and she was the one. She sighed with a sick sense of relieved pleasure from it. If there was some kind of religious hell, she had sure dragged a lot of people down with her. She'd consider that a win.


	10. Chapter 10

Eat, eat, eat... ...and then rinse away the acid refluxes with water. She was tired of it. Her body needed the nutrients to heal up, but she'd forgotten what it felt like to be empty and actually want food.

"The point of taking a shower is that you put on clean clothes afterwards."

She didn't pay any attention to the orderly's remark. People liked things that smelled of detergent for some reason. She liked things that smelled of her, and things she'd done. ...but they didn't let her keep the extraction clothes - those were replaced during her first shower. It was a strange kind of dressup game, to wear white t-shirts "like a normal person", when everyone could tell it was like dressing up an animal.

Her nerves were always shot when she got back, and yet full of adrenaline. Her fingers were always busy and couldn't keep still. It took a day or two for her body to settle back down again, but until then she tossed and turned so much in her bed that she could hardly sleep. Flashes of memories made her whole body spasm in urgent response. In the beginning the memories were horrible, and her yelps were more like terrified screams. Now they were simply glitchy reflexes.


	11. Medical Procedures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura demonstrates her medical expertize. Fuck doctors.  
> (These procedures stem from real world experience, so do try them at home. Trust me - I'm not a doctor.)

Laura stared at her left big toe as it stuck out to the side at a 45 degree angle. That was indeed an odd angle. The muscle massage of her foot side was useless, so in the end she just grabbed hold of the toe and set it straight again.

 

Laura had no delusions about doctors anymore. They were basically just a set of pretentious glorified nerds who had deluded themselves into thinking they knew medical procedures.

Take her ear clots, for example: Those rinsing syringes were basically useless, along with any antibiotic eardrops they prescribed and "examinations". They repeatedly told her to not itch, and even use any cotton swabs, but in the end, that was the one thing that actually worked.

It was a rough procedure, but what she did was dig her finger into her ear opening and sort of create a vacuum pressure, increasing the pressure until she heard the slow faint woosh of something slowly moving inside. The pressure hurt a bit, but it was okay. When blood had begun to wet her finger, making it too slippery, she then inserted an ear swab to carefully clean things up. The sight of even the swab handle being covered in fresh blood with the odd chunk in it, was a bit gruesome, but what surgery wasn't bloody?

She bet she could do better surgery than those doctors. She just needed to learn that second stitching part.

 

Before she went to bed, they had some news for her that wasn't just news channels reporting the aftermath of on her deeds and the usual public feigning of innocence. They had tracked him to a hideout, and with movers moving in and out of the building creating vulnerabilities, now would be the ideal time to strike. There was a brief question about whether she was ready to head out within the hour, but Laura respected her still healing injuries enough to know that she wouldn't be of any real use to them in her current state. ...and so she decided on bedtime instead.


	12. Gun rhymes with Fun

There's one thing that you should never order your head of security to do: Go home.  
...because going home means that he'll leave your side, and one dark evening end up being followed by a little girl.

She'd never use a gun before, but she figured she'd try one. It was fucking loud. First round through the chest, second round through the head, third round through the neck, fourth round through his balls. Then the kneecaps, and then his head again. She liked the head. She tried shooting a little smiley face into it. Oh boy, she could keep doing this all night. Once he was down and out, it was kind of like painting. Unfortunately the clip suddenly ran out, and all she got was a few disappointing clicks.

Never the less, she was proud of the result. This guy wouldn't be getting up any time soon. A job worth doing was a job worth doing well.


	13. Normality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wouldn't describe it as envy. More of a fantasy. It would feel kinda cool to be normal, for maybe twelve hours.

Back to another boring pre-mission food-med hour schedule, and back to abstaining from training.  
Fortunately they didn't specify WHAT she could eat, and so the next meal was just a big chocolate bar with milk.

When she had finished, she rested her head on her fists, wondering what it was like, to be "normal". As they passed her on the street, they had had a certain dormant expression of their faces, like they were either carefree or dead inside. They moved around a lot out there, and they were used to the vertigo she felt when she looked across large distances.

They went to schools of their own, and then they went to work like the orderlies. It was weird to imagine, sitting in a schoolbench with other kids all day, probably learning all about how to work.

They looked weak, and some even fat, so they clearly didn't do any lifting. ...but still most of them made it into adulthood, probably because they didn't have to fight. Virtually none of them had killed another person. They weren't supposed to, just like she wasn't supposed to kill orderlies. Instead they tended to stores all day, standing still behind a desk, like some sort of trained prop. They weren't free like she was. It was actually kinda sad. It seemed like nothing they'd do throughout their lives would matter. Slowly they would just wrinkle up like moldy food until they died. The staff would probably have her killed before allowing that to happen to her, if she even survived that long.

Goddammit all this sitting around and not being able to do anything, was driving her crazy.


	14. Teamwork

It took some getting used to, seeing guys next to her be taken out by sniper fire. This was the first time somebody wasn't aiming for her, and it effectively halved her efforts. Basically the windows were now death zones. When it was over, finishing off the people who had barricaded themselves in, was easy. Maybe guns weren't all bad after all.

This building was only a front. They knew that going in. However, fronts still contained guards, workers and some intel, with just less security. There were other, more genuine sites, but why risk it when kills were kills? It didn't matter if their boss had an unlimited supply: It still drained his assets and did damage.

She looked the sniper over in the extraction van. They were similar, yet different. None of them asked for this way of life, and being born into warfare, had known death from a young age, but he carried a bitterness and sorrow about him, and somewhat of a disgust for her existence as a creation of death, indicating some sort of resentment for killing. They didn't say a word to eachother on the way back. This hadn't made them allies.

She sighed with contentment. Lots of bodies created today. She'd done well.


	15. Starting War and Making Peace

She frowned from the discomfort of the pain in her entire torso. It was a stupid even pain, stretching from her shoulders down to her belly button - one that didn't just occationally ache to discourage her from shifting about, but a dull one that screamed from the top of its imaginary lungs at all times. She was pretty sure that they had gotten all the fragments that had hid out under her shoulder blades, but healing up after them would still take a few days.

She could pass the time by laying in bed and listening to the phone tap recordings now, which was kinda fun: The rehiring of more people. The shock when he learned of the news of the gruesome death of his head of security. Lots of angry phonecalls to blamed parties - both rivals and the allies who had distanced themselves in the interests of selfpreservation. The boss was apparently prepared to go down swinging, which was a valid tactic, but that also meant that he now had all of those opponents making peace to unite against him, to take him out before he would do the same to them. He had turned his main hideout into a fortress at this point, against one little girl, and in the end, with her hitting his supply lines like this, it would only be a matter of time before that fortress would fall.

...yet when she finally drifted off into an uneasy slumber afterwards, it was without the satisfaction she'd felt earlier. She knew what it meant to lie dying and bleeding out, thinking her life was over. The emergency rescue team had brought her back from death when she'd failed that one mission back when she was young. She also knew what it meant when people died. She knew that what she was doing was ultimately something hideously wrong. She could love her skills, and she could love the results that she produced, but she could never ever love herself. She was born a bastard, and she would die a bastard, probably before she even knew that her life was over. It was something that was innately impossible to make peace with, and she'd given up on trying to a long time ago.


	16. Friendship

She looked across the row of beds of the quiet dorm. Sometimes she forgot that they were even there - that there were other projects beside her, living their own lives. Officially the institute didn't expressedly forbid social contact, but they did stomp it out if it ever occured, the reason being that social bonding meant a compromize of unquestioning loyalty and obedience. There would be no emotional instability if there was no trace of emotions. The methods ranged from having one friend watch as the other got hurt or raped, to ordering them to fight until death - terminate one project to save another. Instilling these things in the form of personal internal experiences, had proven to be more efficient than simply declaring it in public, static rules. ...and so they chose to never spoke to eachother, out of self-preservation. Looks and words became threats. Humanity became a rotting infestation. Isolation meant safety.

Laura had a guilty pleasure, though: She kept a personal graveyard of them stoved away in the drawer of her nightstand - things to remember them by when she got bored enough. Not the memories of her ultimately having to cut their vital organs asunder, but the good times that had flown away. It hurt a bit, but was a hurt that she just couldn't quit. She knew that the orderlies would decide to "clean away the junk" one day, but for now her collection wasn't apparent enough.


	17. The Taste of Defeat

Laura's grin beamed with absolute madness, breathing as if she was just looking to tear someone to pieces with her bare arms. She had lost again. She had been stopped, disciplined and beaten down despite her best efforts, and she had missed it so much. Only the weights could push her to her absolute limit. Only the weights could squeeze the true potential - her true wild self - out of her. They didn't yield and die like living things did. They were worthy opponents, enabling her to taste defeat. Somehow she needed it emotionally - needed it like she needed a hard slap in the face to put her back in her place. It was just how it was.

 

They had to explain to her exactly why they had aborted any further missions on her current target. There were two reasons.  
First of all, she had started a war in the underground, and the war was itself more valuable to them than he was. Assault rifles were being put into play now, and law enforcment were mobilizing and on standby, so things had also gotten too hot.

Second of all, she'd then failed her psych eval by talking openly about how part of her wanted to know what a grenade blast tasted like. They asked her if she wanted to die, and she'd told them, with a sort of nervous manic laugh, that she'd love to. She couldn't really explain why she wanted to. It just felt like the right thing to do. Thinking rationally was something she'd abandoned a long time ago. They told her that such a lack of self-preservation was a sign of combat fatigue, and that she was being put on ice, probably until she had learned to fear death somehow.


	18. Laura loses her virginity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter describes a sexual act, but if you pull out your weiner, you do so at your own risk.  
> You might regret it, since things are going to get very dark and gruesome.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evil? ...or just misunderstood?  
> You decide. :)

"So we're 'live' now? ... Good." Laura began adressing the camera as the boy beside her squirmed under the black hoodie. "Hi there.", she greeted it with a matter of fact smile. "I wish we could meet more face to face, but this will have to do." She turned to the boy. "You'll never guess who I picked up from school today. Hint: He's got brown short hair, and green eyes, and he is very nice and trusting of pretty girls. Not a trace of muscle on him - you mustn't be feeding him enough."

With those words she did the reveal by slowly raising the hood from the boy's head, revealing the gagged mouth, the wet cheeks and the red cried eyes. There was some wild jerks of struggling, but nothing near what the restraints could handle. "Maybe he figured he could get his willie wet inside me, which would be very naughty of him. I'm more into older guys, myself - not younger. ...but I'm getting ahead of myself." She faced the camera again. "Now, you might be thinking: 'What's her demands? I'll do anything to get my son back.' This is a good question, but that's not really what this is about. Unfortunately there are not going to be any demands. I'm not some kind of negotiator. I just want you to see your son."

She turned to the oversized orange shirt they'd dressed him in, and he reeled away from her as she got to unbuttoning it. Because of the zip ties around his wrists, there was no taking it off wiithout extracting her claws, and she had been instructed not to use them, so she just pulled it back over his hands instead.

"By the looks of him, I'm pretty sure that your son is a virgin. ...but today is his lucky day." She caressed a hand over his back, from shoulder to shoulder.

He looked up at her with bewilderment before she picked him up by the neck, kicking the chair away, and violently bent him over the table.

"My people have assured me that he has done his lavatory duties, and he's been enema'd and lubed up, and now he's all mine.", she declared with a triumphant smile as he wiggled around helplessly under her strong grip.

She held up the purple dildo in her other hand, her smile widening. "Tadaah!" She looked it up and down. "It's so pretty...", she admitted. "I'm actually kind of jealous. It sure won't fit inside my pussy, and I have my doubts that it'll even fit inside him, but that's what we're here to find out.", she grinned.

She pulled down the boy's pants and then fastened the strapon around her hip. She was going to feel her own thrusts against her sex as well, but she wasn't there to get off. She was there to dominate. Having lubricated the tip and the full length, she brought its large head to the boy's tiny preteen starfish. There was some muscle relaxant in the lube, or else this stunt wouldn't have a prayer of working.

She then leaned over him, and spoke into his ear with a softer voice that the camera would still be able to pick up: "Now listen up, Timmie: In these next few seconds, you'll either be bending or breaking, and it's all up to you what it's gonna be, so I want to you accept me, Timmie. I want you to invite me with all of your heart and all of your soul, for dear life."

He began screaming before she'd even begun, but he immediately fell silent the moment he felt the adult-sized tip against his shincter. She didn't have much patience, but together they quickly managed to find a silent agreement, him panting and pushing all that he could, and her holding the cockhead steady while watching his anus streching up all the way over it, before it was finally allowed to constrict past the ridge of the glans. Even though it was just a dildo, psychologically this still felt amazing, pushing the boy to his limits like this. He was now her pupil, and she had several decimeters left to teach him.

He gave out long grunts as she pushed herself inside the boy's colon, filled with pleasure mixed with an alien sense of discomfort. Soon she had worked it all down to the hilt. The tingling sensation against her clit was almost overpowering, but she steeled herself to calm her own breathing down. She knew that she was going to enjoy this, but she needed to hold back as much as possible. The boy was now giving out little feminine grunts amidst his heavy breathing. She'd completely broken him mentally.

She turned to the camera. "Your son is taking this very well, I must say. ...although it sure sounds like he's switched gender on me. I hope you're enjoying the show so far. It's going to get a whole lot better."

His body felt like jelly underneath her as she began moving. There just want no way to hold back the groaning from either of them now. While she worked her little bitch, she felt her swollen pussy wetten the leather, and soon enough she began pushing herself to her own limit as well, as her whore's groans turned into grunts, but it was when the grunt began turning into whimpers of pain, that she felt her first orgasm overwhelm her completely. Growling with ferocity, she pounded him harder and harder, until his whimpers exploded into wild drawnout shrieks, no doubt from his sphincter finally rupturing. Soon these too gave way, this time settling down into strained broken moans of apathic suffering, before she finally collapsed on top of him from the remnants of her own orgasmic convulsions.

...but this wasn't how it would end. "You're not leaving this room alive.", she whispered into his ear. "I'll make you die from septic shock, right here on this table, a few hours from now. Those are my orders." From the unsteady groans of her victim, she somehow doubted he was aware of her words anymore. With renewed strength, she got back to working on another orgasm, continuing the show for her audience.


	19. Aftermath

As she began to withdraw her "penis", she figured the smell would be unbareable, and it was. Halfway she quickly decided to just leave the mess of shit and blood sealed up where it was, and just undo the straps of the whole thing.

With an exhausted smile, she approached the still recording camera. "Thank you for your son. He was lovely right until the end. ...and then he was lovely some more. You must have been proud of him. Thank you."

She waved a final goodbye, before she turned the camera off.

No longer needing to act, she turned to look at what had once been a boy, his face lying in his own saliva, his eyes unclosing, his jaw somewhat dislocated.

He'd stopped his drawn out, quivering moans about halfway, and after that, it had been like fucking a doll made of flesh, sliding in and out of it with more and more ease, finding a sense of blissful release in pounding her hip into his buttcheeks in her very first experience of actual sex. They needed to find her more partners, cause this had been really fun.

...but looking at him like this, made her think about how different the people outside viewed what she had just done. They used words like "non-combatant" and "civilian", and "war crimes". His father had probably not even trained him to be of any use to his organization. Maybe he'd train his next son better.

There was a sloppy sound on the other side of the table, as the dildo fell out of his ass on its own. It was time to get out of there before the stench of shit and blood became too overwhelming. She knocked on the door for the orderlies to open.

"That was great!", she beamed with joy as they draped her in a white bath towel. "I want more!"

"March straight to the showers, miss."

"Thank you so much!", she shouted happily behind her as she ran off.


	20. Mercy

"They cleared you for them, but if you don't mind me asking, why would you want these recordings for?"

"I want to hear him break.", she explained with a serious expression on her face. "Every thrust into that boy, I also thrust into that man's brain, and I want to hear every squeal of it."

The orderly gave up trying to understand her soul, and just handed her the drive. "Don't lose it or copy it. They expect it back by tomorrow."

It didn't disappoint. In the pandemonium that her hip thrusts had singlehandedly created, he had called her "that little whore" more than once, and it took a few days for his advisors to stabilize his psyche enough to run his organization again, but by then he'd already lashed out and ordered a full frontal assault on the rival he figured was responsible. He was successful in taking him and all his successors out, but with this he knew that his days were numbered. He'd left so much evidence tied to him that it was only a matter of weeks or days until his arrest.

...and so next he finally made the smart decision to start phoning some US embassies in order to leave Canada. He tried to keep a straight face to his men, spinning it as a sort of relocation in order to seize a more profitable market, but anyone could tell that he had lost. The ones who couldn't accompany him prepared to go into hiding. All around it was a theatre of once self-confident voices of adult, savage men, that had now been brought to the brink of tears.

Why she did it was simple: She wanted to face her own pity. Some executioners couldn't stand to execute their victims without the hood on, because their humanity hesitated in the face of pleas and tears. They couldn't look their targets in the eye as they pulled the trigger, or pulled the switch, simply because there was something in human nature that prevented human beings from killing one another in cold blood. It was desensitation training. She'd read the records of what these men had done by now. The sobs on the recordings belonged to the same man who'd ordered men shot dead in their own homes in front of their families, over the smallest of things. Even now they planned on carrying on their operations in the US or Mexico. Every man cried like a human being if pushed up against the wall hard enough, and she wanted to make sure that there were no traces of mercy left in her that would make her hesitate for even a split second.

She only had a week or two, to learn marksmanship accuracy with a rifle.


	21. Farewells

"So this is it, huh? I won't ever see you again?" He gave his friend in the driver's seat a depressed glance.

"I'm sure I'll have some leave time around christmas and stuff, but... ...uh, yeah... It sucks, but the way things are going around here, I'm frankly just lucky that I survived this far, you know. Every day there's just a matter of who's gonna get hit next and by whom. I've had to sleep with a piece next to my bed."

"Yeah, I'm not arguing with you. I just think it sucks. Well, best of luck to you in the states. Hey, who's-?"

The next moment gunshots pierced the windshield of their car, as the girl fired off her gun in rapid succession. Whimpering, he quickly took cover by ducking down behind the dashboard as his friend's body danced around beside him. ...but no matter how stupidly futile this maneuver had been, the gunshots ended not with his death, but with an eerie silence. It took a long while before he dared to look up, his face pale white. It had all been true what he'd told him. The Death Kid. The Death Kid was real.

"I'm a good boy! I'm a good boy! I'm a fucking good boy, I swear to God I didn't to anything! I don't even know him!", he chanted with his heart still thankfully beating in his chest, hoping that it would somehow make this angel of death spare him.

...but she was long gone. Against his better judgement he glanced over at his friend, his body slumped over against the front hinge of the door and unmoving, with blood and pieces of him embedded into where he had once sut. There was no doubt about him no longer being alive. As a simply factory worker, all he'd seen about gun violence had been on TV, and now he was straight in the middle of it.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could continue the previous storyline here, but the whole point of this work, was to have as little storyline as possible, and so all that tasty conclusion that I set up in the previous chapter, well, that happened "off-camera".  
> I wrote a bunch of action in my Spider-Man story, and I'm all burned out. This story is for reflection and shit.  
> Also: Holy shit, 1800 views? Jesus, FBI, don't read it all at once. I'll never disclose where the bodies are buried, not that I know where they were buried in the first place, or that there are any bodies to begin with.

Her eyes burned as she fought sleep. Everyone else was asleep but her.

She had a few new photos added to her collection. Four of them. The first one was a body that it took the lab a week to connect to an identity. As a good professional would do, he'd taken great care to leave no trace or records. Either that, or he had just been a very treasured gardener. Unfortunately he had been seated in the car she shot up, so he must have been involved in something. He died a mystery.

The next two were of the ones who got away. Once she started shooting, the caravan had picked up a neckbreaking pace, and they quickly disappeared from view. They were safely in the states now, and although they still operated across the border, it was now to a much lesser degree.

The last photo was of a guy who was alive. This was remarkable because she'd thought he'd been dead for many years. Once he got out of surgery, they must have separated them. She chuckled, amused over what bastards they could be.

She put the photos away and took out another souvenir. She held back a grin as she turned the unfired .50 BMG cartridge over in her hand. The casing had a nasty ridge where it closed around the actual bullet, but that wasn't going to stop her. She easily covered it by wrapping her underwear around the round, before taking it under the covers. It was just narrow enough for her, and the 10 centimeters worth of cloth wrapped brass soon slid all the way up until she felt its tip poke at her cervix. This felt so much better than her toothbrush. She sighed with contentment: These things had two ways of making her happy.


	23. Chapter 23

The man in the lumberjack shirt let out a drawn out grunt as he dragged the desk over to barricade the front door of the cabin. It was a useless gesture, since the door opened outward, but it was all he could do to slow down his pursuer.  
He made sure that his shotgun was loaded. He wish he'd actually used it on something moving, because she moved with an almost unnatural speed.  
...but as he stood there, aiming at the door, a faint crash of a window upstairs, told him that she'd changed the rules.  
Gun raised to his shoulder, he slowly ascended the stairs. All he needed was one shot to connect, and after that, the rest of the shots would clean the meat off her bones.  
In the hallway he froze, listening. Everything was quiet. Somewhere, from one of the rooms, there was a chilling gust of wind - the only clue as to which room she'd breached into.

Very carefully he peered into the room through the sights. Was she under the bed? Was she in the closet? Behind the desk? This was a game that he would lose.  
He quickly closed the door to the room. He could change the rules too, only to hear a window downstairs shatter. That bitch! Was she just throwing rocks at the house, hoping he'd freeze to death?  
Slowly he made his way down the stairs again. A second later he fired at a large shadow jumping up to the balcony he had just been at, and disappearing into one of the rooms.  
"God damn it!" He had missed. At least now he knew in which room she was. "Hold still, you frickin' bastard."

Again he advanced on the room. He'd heard no sound of breaking glass this time. This was it. ...and he had the gun - how could he possibly lose?  
Again he fired, as the shadow he had waited for turned the corner. The shot tore straight through it and sent it flying backwards.  
The thrown curtain was then quickly followed by the little girl he'd been hoping for, and he screamed as he realized that his reloading was so slow that his next aim was too far off its mark. It fired one more time, up into the ceiling, before the deadly claws reached him. She went for his shoulder and his side, and he screamed as he fell backward, dropping his gun.

 

Laura lied down on his couch after it she was finally done upstairs. The gunshots had rung out in the middle of nowhere, so there was no hurry to leave.  
She took out her photo of him. What a filthy man, down to his unshaven appearance. Stalkings of families, extortions, rapes... She'd done all of these things, just because of these photographs, yet somehow it felt worse coming from him. She had been born destined to do these things, and there wouldn't be anybody crying at her disposal, but this guy, he'd done them out of hubris. He'd done them because he'd been a retard who could have gotten a lawabiding job like a normal citizen, and yet didn't measure up to even working as a janitor. ...and that's why they had made her - a shark to swim in the darkest of waters, to clean up the mess that society couldn't handle, with an even bigger mess.

...but it felt good, finally being able to strike him off her list. She had just two guys left now, before she'd earned her vacation. Two unshakable, untouchable guys who were by now actually quivering in their boots just knowing that there was some mysterious stalking figure out there, who were tracking their scents.


End file.
